Loken died in the year 002 M42.
The end of Mankind as he knew it.
As anyone knew it, for that matter.


A loud screeching noise and a shell slams down on the ground to the left of Loken. He remains hunkered down, and lifts his bolter up over the edge of the trench. He empties a clip towards the large red mist in the near distance. There is no measuring time or distances on this world. It is deep in the Eye, and this is the site of the newest black crusade.
Nothing but Chaos. Nothing but blood, blood, blood. Khorne.
Loken looks over to the Brother-Sargeant to his left. A stoic look of faith mixed with distaste is written in stone upon his face. Loken looks inside himself, and sees the same thing. Fighting for the God-Emperor.
Nothing but Chaos. Nothing but blood, blood, blood. Khorne.
Loken speaks naught, and the artillery shells start falling once again. The Astartes hunker down even further, shielding their armoured bulks from the shrapnel.
The artillery stops falling, and Loken raises his bolter and empties another clip. He reaches over and jams another one into the socket.
Nothing but Chaos. Nothing but blood, blood, blood. Khorne.
And wild cries are heard, mingled with inhuman roars and the pounding of thousands of pairs of feet....and quad pairs of feet.
"Daemons! Ready yourselves, brothers!"
In his last moments, he knows that he won't live. He knows that no other brother will live. There are fifty Blood Ravens here, of the Third Company. There are thirty-two thousand Chaos Followers and Warriors. It's just an advance party.
Nothing but Chaos. Nothing but blood, blood, blood. Khorne.
And the wave of charging Heretics crashes against the walls put up by the Astartes. Runs them over easily. Continues on it's path of destruction.
"Out!"
Loken jumps over the trench wall, and the fifty Astartes follow in one quick, graceful motion. Loken raises his hand up, the Astartes raise their bolters.
Nothing but Chaos. Nothing but blood, blood, blood. Khorne.
The Heretics gain ground. They're now not more than fifteen hundred yards away, and coming fast.
Five seconds pass.
Loken drops his hand, and the bolters sound out as one. The first six ranks of Cultists fall, but are trampled.
A hundred yards.
Another volley, and the Astartes reload so quickly that their arms are red and manila blurs.
Fifty yards.
Nothing but Chaos. Nothing but blood, blood, blood. Khorne.
Another volley. Loken draws his chainsword, and belts out on an amplified channel;
"Only in death does duty end! Know this; we are His brothers! Charge!"
The rays of the blood-red sun break through the red, misted world, and the the Astartes, "the Forlorn" as they will later become to be known as, charge. It was Loken's last order. He thinks naught of all the world he had seen before, as a Master of the Gray, and many other things, but only of his service to Terra and the Golden Throne.


This was what he lived for. The Glory of Death. There was no other higher honor in His Service than Death. No living being could claim the same as Loken's memory could. He was taken to His Right Hand, to take his part on the battlefield which is the site of the final battle of the Endless War.

Nothing but Chaos, everything but faith.